


Employees of the Month

by darkchives



Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mall AU, Medium Burn, We've never worked in retail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 23:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkchives/pseuds/darkchives
Summary: Arthur works in a charity bookstore and Bruce works in a fancy suit shop. Microwave lunches, bantering, and class warfare ensues.





	Employees of the Month

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this tumblr post with some modifications
> 
> http://orarewedancy.tumblr.com/post/165264559708/so-i-work-at-a-video-game-store-in-a-mall-and

Arthur didn’t like the holidays all that much. It was cold as hell and he had to spend half the day driving around the city with boxes of heavy books. Not that it wasn’t good work, but the days were exhausting, his hands were always cold, and donors were always snooty and saw him as their personal servant. 

“Do you have that display up yet, Curry? We open in 5 minutes. Barry could you please focus! You know this is the biggest donation day of the year and we have to make a good impression!” Arthur’s boss, Bill, yelled from the back room. Barry the intern nodded quickly, but went right back to flying around the store doing a lot, but accomplishing very little. Bill was red-faced and sweaty with exertion. Arthur imagined that two of your employees no-call no-showing on one of the busiest days of the year would do that to you. 

“I know what time it is.” Arthur replied, “and those displays have been up for a half hour. Barry if you don’t slow down and actually finish doing something I’m going to-” 

He was interrupted by Barry’s quick, clipped voice. “You all need to cool it. I’m done. This is gonna be great!” Arthur was envious of his unbridled optimism. It was his first year in nonprofit. Truthfully, It was going to be a shitshow and Arthur wasn’t sure why they bothered to put anything in any semblance of order at this time of year. 

The first loads of book boxes arrived shortly after and Arthur was quickly set to organizing and cataloguing the day’s givings. Barry flitted through the store, politely answering questions, getting people signed up for their online newsletter, and accepting donations. Eventually, Arthur traded places and took names from donor after donor. They’d all begun to morph into one until the man in the sharp suit entered. 

He strode in with annoying confidence and marched directly to Arthur at the desk. “I need to use your microwave.” He smiled smugly.

Arthur frowned. “Sorry, but we don’t let non-staff--”

The man’s smug smile grew larger. “You don’t understand. I’m an employee--”

Arthur interrupted him with a snort. “Uh, sure--

“Please don’t interrupt me. I was going to say an employee of the suit shop across the hall. So. Can a neighbor use your microwave?”

Arthur was about to retort, but he noticed the ever-growing stack of book boxes that Barry had somehow missed behind the suit guy. “Really, you’re going to steal the nonprofit’s microwave? Fine, dude, but we’re going to need to work out a deal because we cannot have you barging in here at peak hours.” He turned to start cataloguing, but the suit man hadn’t left yet. 

“You’ll have to tell me where it is.”

Impotent rage filled Arthur. He wanted to smack the man’s chiseled face. “Through the staff-only door to the left,” he choked.

* * *

Bruce was thrilled that the charity bookstore had a working microwave. Sure, the tattooed guy at the counter was a bit of an ass, but Bruce planned on enjoying a fine cup of microwaved organic oatmeal before the rush of fittings he had at 10. And he planned to continue this new routine until after the holidays. If he was going to work, he was still going to eat well.

After stirring the oatmeal and making sure it was perfectly hot and delectable, he strode back out of the bookshop, winking at the guy at the desk. Why not be an ass back? 

The suit store was still quiet -- most of their customers had appointments, and the sophisticated and softly lit interior never let the noise level reach the same decibels of other retailers. Diana started to smile at him as he walked in, but she frowned as soon as she saw the oatmeal. 

“Where did you get that? Was there a food truck? All I have is a granola bar for the whole day and you found hot breakfast?”

Bruce grinned. “I think I’m making an alliance with the bookshop over there. They have a microwave.”

Diana’s expression did not soften. “First, it seems absurd to me that we do not have a working microwave. Some of these suits are a month’s rent. Second, you? Making alliances? You’re about as diplomatic as our esteemed manager.”

“Oh, come on, that’s harsh. I’m a good salesman, and that means I can...totally make alliances.”

“Some salesman? You barged in on them on Black Friday. You’re zero for two today.”

“One for three. I have oatmeal and you don’t.” 

Diana stuck her tongue out at him, and turned to greet their first high-level customer.

* * *

Arthur stretched and yawned as his back cracked in at least 3 places. They’d made it, messy and severely understaffed, but the sweet sound of the mechanical voice that announced the mall was closing had already played over the mall’s PA system. All that was left was to get the store back into shape and close her down. That’s when the door chimed. 

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath and heard Barry yell something to that effect from the back room. He stood back up and put on his best smile despite the exhaustion. “I’m sorry, but we’re-- YOU.” He pointed his finger at the suited man from before. Behind strode a tall woman wearing an equally smart suit. She smiled at him. 

“I see my colleague didn’t bother introducing himself. He’s like that.” she put her hand up in mock secrecy and mouthed rich kid to him. “I’m Diana. Diana Prince. And this is-”

“Bruce Wayne.” Bruce interjected and raised his hand to shake Arthur’s. 

“Arthur Curry. And we don’t accept donations after hours,” he said brusquely. Bruce did not look deterred and opened his mouth to speak, but Diana interrupted him, stepping between Bruce and the counter. 

“I know and you’re obviously tired. I know how Black Friday is.”

“At a suit shop?” he smirked. 

“I worked at Kohl’s when I was a teenager.” she responded. 

Arthur nodded, “You’ve got five minutes.”

She smiled politely. “This won’t take five minutes. First, I think Bruce wants to apologize for how he treated you this morning.” 

Bruce didn’t react until Diana surreptitiously elbowed him. “Ahem. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I guess it was pretty busy.”

Diana’s smile was still in place, but she looked like she might murder Bruce later. “So, Arthur, we’re wondering about a trade. Our store doesn’t have a microwave, but we do have a private bathroom that has two-ply toilet paper. So, how about microwave privileges in exchange for bathroom privileges?”

Arthur was half-tempted to refuse just to wipe off the smug look from Bruce’s face, but the mall’s restrooms were a five-minute walk. “Fine. But we really can’t let you barge in at peak hours.”

 

“That won’t be a problem,” interjected Bruce. “Frankly, the same goes for you. We have an aesthetic to maintain.” Diana gave him a painfully frigid glare.

“Does this go for all staff?” Arthur asked. He would feel shitty if Barry still had to run all the way to the public bathrooms. He could see Bruce begin to refuse, but Diana quickly stepped in.

“Of course. As long as you are clean and don’t interrupt our business, we’ll do the same for you. And should anything need to be renegotiated, we’ll come to you.”

Arthur nodded. “Deal.”

“Deal,” chorused Diana and Bruce.

* * *

Arthur felt like he’d only just left the store by the time he got there again the next morning. Barry was already at the front of the store buzzing around the new case of his favorite comics. Comics weren’t donated very often, but they got a donation monthly from a man who brought in brand new issues the day after he read them.It didn’t make too much sense to Arthur, buying a comic and immediately donating it, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Plus, Barry was like a kid at Christmas every time he saw the man come in. 

“We should really charge you for those, Barry,” Arthur joked. He flung his backpack over the counter and went over to where Barry was huddled in the corner, quickly reading the latest release before they had to begin opening the store. 

“I’d quit and then you’d have no one,” he replied. 

“That’s awfully cocky of you.” 

“Maybe, but it’s true.”

It was, unfortunately, true.

They got the store almost opened by the time their boss showed up. He was red again as if he’d run from the parking garage, but Arthur highly doubted that because of the wrapped ankle and the crutches that banged against the doorframe as he entered.

“Bill, what the hell happened to you?” Arthur asked, relieving him of his backpack and the scalding hot coffee he held in one hand. 

“Slipped on the ice.” he answered shortly. Arthur could physically feel the heavier workload that was going to hit him until Bill healed enough to walk regularly. But he dutifully helped Bill to the back room and got started on inventory. 

At his break, Arthur went to the suit shop to avail himself of the two-ply and greet his new acquaintances. Diana and Bruce were behind the desk. Bruce gave a short nod, but Diana smiled kindly and beckoned him over to say hello. 

“How is the book selling business?” she asked brightly.

Arthur shrugged. “Book donating, actually. But honestly, it’s been better. Bill, my boss, broke his leg, and we’re already understaffed. It will be bedlam until the holidays are over.”

“That sucks,” said Bruce, with something almost like sympathy. 

“Indeed,” said Diana. 

Arthur shrugged again. “Well, if you guys know anyone who needs work, we’ve got volunteer positions opening like crazy.”

Bruce shook his head noncommittally, but Diana’s smile suddenly turned mercenary. “I think I do know someone. In fact, I have just the thing.”

“Oh?” Arthur brightened up. Maybe he would be able to take more than 15 minutes off a day. 

“Yes. Take Bruce. We don’t need him.”

Bruce’s eyes widened in shock. “You don’t need me? I was employee of the month in October!” 

Diana brushed his comment away with a flip of her hand. “You know what I mean, Bruce. You don’t have the largest appointment load in the next couple weeks. So, in your downtime you can help with whatever they do in the book store. No one’s going to notice an hour or two here and there. You’re still getting paid here, and volunteering is good for you.”

“I can’t believe this, you can’t do this!”

“Sure I can, I’m assistant manager. Run along and organize something. Good to see you, Arthur!”

* * *

Bruce sulked his way across the hallway with his lunch. Diana had pawned him off after lunch to help Arthur with god knows what. How hard could it be to run some kind of book nonprofit? It couldn’t be more than 400 square feet. He passed Arthur’s cohort on the way in, tall dark haired kid who seemed to vibrate where he stood. 

“How much does a suit run over there? I’ve never really been in, just got chased through there when I was younger and-” 

“Barry, can I get some help over here?” Arthur called from the other side of the tiny store. It was unprofessional, but Bruce didn’t think they were all too concerned with what was professional. They all wore T-shirts sporting the charity’s logo and Arthur’s tattoos definitely would have been covered by shirt sleeves if he wanted to make it through an interview at the suit shop. 

He slipped into the back room and waited on his meal to heat up. Arthur came to the back and rummaged silently through his backpack. 

“You’re remaking all the labels for these library books. They need to be ready for the librarian to pick them up by 5,” he said after he finally found his own lunch.

“By 5? But there’s like...hundreds of them?” Bruce asked incredulously. 

Arthur nodded and leaned against the rickety table the microwave sat on. “Welcome to hell,” he grinned. 

* * *

After two hours of tedious label-making, Bruce made it back to the suit shop for his 2pm appointment. The fitting went smoothly and the gentleman purchased three suits on the spot. Feeling more himself, he settled down at the desk to finish out the workday. 

Around 4, Arthur came in, looking tired and out of place. 

“Come in to use the can?” Bruce asked.

Arthur let out a laugh and nodded. It was deep and surprisingly sweet. “That, and I wanted to thank you for your help today. We really wouldn’t have finished all those labels without you. I know it’s not really your job, so it means a lot. You don’t have to do it again, though, I’m sure you’ve got better stuff to do.”

Bruce knew he could just say that he did and watch Arthur walk out, but he paused. “Honestly, it wasn’t terrible. And look at me right now. I’m really not doing a lot when I’m not helping with a fitting.” 

“If I had more time I’d stop by to bother you more often.”

“I guess I’ll just have to make more labels to fill these doldrum hours.”

“Doldrum hours? So you’re a nerd in a suit no less.”

“Or I’ll just wave and flip you off as I finish my delectable microwave meals.”

“You’d better work for those microwave privileges. I’ll see you around, Bruce.”

Bruce smiled, this time genuinely. “See you, Arthur.”

* * *

“You don’t cook very often do you?” Arthur asked Bruce as they both knelt in the back room 3 days later. Bruce had dropped the microwaveable soup bowl and sent its contents splattering in all directions. 

“Not my strong suit. What gave me away?” Bruce responded wearily.

Arthur pointed to the rarely-used trash can that held only microwave meal lids and Barry’s energy drinks. 

“Touché.”

Arthur could tell that Bruce was tired as hell. From what, he didn’t know -- whatever rich people who inexplicably worked in suit stores did all day. Arthur grabbed a roll of paper towels from behind the cash register and helped him clean up the mess. 

“How about tomorrow you don’t bring in your sad bachelor meals and I’ll bring enough of my lunch for you.”

“Nah, you can’t do that!” Arthur almost thought he saw Bruce blush.

“Sure I can. I make a mean stir fry. And I always have too many leftovers anyway.”

“I can’t just let you slave away for me.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Bruce’s flustered smile disappeared. “I just feel like I’m kind of useless. Let me help you, at least. Buy some ingredients, chop carrots or something.”

Arthur was taken aback, worried his teasing had suddenly gone too far. “I mean, yeah, if you’d like that.” Bruce nodded. “Fine then, how about you come over around 7? We can make dinner and there will be leftovers for lunch. Pick up some raw carrots, tomatoes, and zucchini. I’ll get the rest. You do know how to pick out good fresh vegetables, right?”

“I can handle some vegetables. Text me your address so I have it.” Bruce checked his watch. “Screw the soup. I need to get back for a fitting. I’ll see you later, then.”

Arthur nodded. “Good, see you later.”

* * *

Arthur was honest to god nervous. His apartment was approachable and clean. His cooking was good enough, especially compared to the microwave meals that Bruce ate every single day. Everything was going just fine, but he was more nervous than he’d ever been before a simple dinner in his own damn house. It wasn’t like he was inviting Bruce over for a date, of course not. This was a...friendly gesture. He turned his stereo on to the local soft rock station and began preparations for the cookies. He wasn’t usually a fan of desserts, but this felt like a special occasion. 

By the time Bruce knocked on his door the apartment smelled delicious. He’d used his father’s recipe, but it never turned out quite right. 

Bruce was in casual clothes, nice jeans and a dark grey polo. He seemed surprised. 

“You surprised to see me in my own apartment?”

He shrugged, “May have crossed my mind that you and Diana set this up to prank me. Send me to a stranger’s door with a bag full of carrots and zucchini.”

Arthur laughed, “Man I wish I’d thought of that.”

“I’m so grateful you didn’t. I’m just….god, it smells amazing in here.” 

“Just some run-of-the-mill chocolate chip cookies. My dad’s old recipe.”

“It’s been a very long time since I had homemade cookies.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you need more friends.”

Bruce smiled. “You know, you’re probably right. You might be shaping up into one, though.”

“That’s okay with me as long as you make yourself useful. Come over here and wash those vegetables.” Arthur felt goosebumps run up his spine as Bruce brushed past him. He was wearing a different cologne than his conservative work scent, one that was clean and just a hint spicy. Arthur cleared his throat and scooted around Bruce to hand him a knife. “Want some wine? I have a nice Zinfandel.”

Bruce snorted. “A Zinfandel? You can say Zinfandel and turn around and call me pretentious? I don’t think so, dude.” 

Arthur laughed in spite of himself. “Honestly, I can’t believe you didn’t take the bait when I called you a nerd. I work at a bookshop. There’s so much material there.”

“I didn’t know where to start. So I went for the low-hanging fruit, like pretentious-ass wine.”

“A good Zin should be just as appreciated as your basic Merlots or whatever.”

“You’re seriously a wine snob?”

“What, you’re a rich kid, I thought I was just catering to my audience.”

The tension that had left Bruce’s shoulders came back. “Oh, got it.”

Arthur felt once again like he’d failed. The nerves came back in full force. He cleared his throat. “Well, thanks -- looks like you did a lovely job with the carrots. Do the zucchini and you’ll have earned as many cookies as you want.”

Bruce nodded. “You bet.” 

Bruce didn’t get very involved with the cooking outside of chopping and watching perched atop the only counter Arthur wasn’t using for food preparation. The smell of the stir-fry mixed with the cookies that lay cooling on the counters was making his mouth water. He didn’t mind Arthur’s rolled-up shirt-sleeves either. Arthur turned around, two heaping plates of stir-fry in either hand. Bruce followed him to the two-person table and poured them both a glass of wine before they sat down.

They talked about work and the snowstorm that was about to blast the entire area with up to a foot of snow. Bruce smiled at Arthur’s grimace. 

“What’s wrong? You don’t like the snow?” he asked. 

“The snow, the cold, everything about winter. The lakes can freeze, Bruce. You can’t swim in a frozen lake.” he groused. 

“You swim a lot?”

“Yep. Have been my whole life. We lived on the coast and my earliest memories are of the ocean.”

Bruce was silent, wondering how a guy from the coast who obviously missed the good weather would end up in such a cold climate. “That makes sense. My first memories are of snow, so I guess that’s why I like it so much. When I was really little my dad would take me sledding.” 

“I guess of all the winter activities, sledding does sound pretty fun. My dad was the one who taught me to swim.”

Bruce smiled. “Was he as good as you?”

Arthur shook his head. “He always said I got some kind of fish gene from my mom. She made it to the Olympic trials, actually.”

“That’s insane! But now I can only imagine you as some kind of fish man.”

“Do not reference that fish man movie to me, so help me.” 

Bruce burst into laughter and Arthur poured them each another class of wine. He cleaned up the plates and brought out the cookies. “Now onto the real food.”

Bruce took a bite of cookie and groaned in ecstacy. It was a disconcertingly attractive sound. “These are the best cookies I’ve eaten since I was eight. I’m not joking.”

Arthur grinned, trying to shake off the effect of that groan. “Seriously high praise. But I reiterate that you need more friends and definitely more cookies.”

“You could just make cookies for me. All the time. I’d pay you.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Tempting. But I don’t want your money, Bruce. What cookies did you have when you were eight? I have to know about the competition.” As soon as the question left his mouth, Arthur saw that he’d made a mistake. Bruce’s face had once again frozen. This time it was not with anger, but with something deeper and sadder. 

“My mother died when I was eight. That would have been the last time I had her cookies. I always remembered that they were the best.” He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. 

Arthur nodded and broke the last of the cookies in half, a piece for him and a piece for Bruce, “My Dad’s dead. Never knew my mom. Guess she left when I was little, but I don’t know the whole story.” He swallowed hard and ate the last of the cookies. 

Bruce looked thoughtfully at his glass of wine before picking it up and raising it in a toast, “To the sad orphans who work at the mall club, members Bruce Wayne and Arthur Curtsy.”

“It’s Curry, you jackass.”

“I know, but there’s so much material there.” Bruce winked and took a sip out of his glass. Arthur felt a sudden warmth at the jab. He ragged on Bruce for his lack of friends, but if Arthur was being honest he didn’t have any close friends either. He had acquaintances and he’d met Barry outside of work a few times, but he was just as alone.

“I was thinking something, Bruce Wayne.”

“And what would that be, Arthur Codpiece?” he smirked. Arthur wanted to regret opening that box, but he couldn’t quite get there.

“Why in the hell are you working anyway?” 

Bruce grimaced. “I’m supposed to be a capitalist asshole, is that right?”

“Is that not what you are?” At Bruce’s expression, Arthur paused. “Okay, I’m mostly kidding. But really. Diana said--”

“Why do you believe everything Diana says?”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of a small curious question. I’ve heard it from others too, and judging by the car outside--” Arthur made a show of pantomiming a glance out the window -- “you’re doing fine. So, what’s going on? Why do you work in a mall suit shop?”

Bruce sighed. “Fine. I have to work to support myself until I settle a lawsuit.”

“Who’s suing you?”

“No one,” retorted Bruce, rolling his eyes. “It’s a thing with how my inheritance trust works. I’m supposed to be able to draw a certain percentage from it a year, which will change based on my age, but there was a problem with the paperwork after my birthday this year and my assets are frozen. So I needed a job.” 

“But surely you went to college. You could get like, you know, a real job.” _Unlike me,_ thought Arthur. 

“Anything you do for money is a real job, Arthur. If you’re trying to knock yourself, don’t. I didn’t want a corporate job. I hated business school and I don’t feel like working with my asshole classmates. So I’m trying to have fun. Make friends. Have a life.”

Arthur’s curiosity was sated, but he wished it hadn’t put that sour look on Bruce’s face. Bruce helped Arthur with the few dishes they’d dirtied and took his tupperware container of leftover stir fry. Arthur watched him don several layers to prepare for the frigid walk to his car. He quickly suppressed the thought that he wished Bruce were taking more layers off. 

“Well I can’t guarantee that the next time we eat won’t be filled with equally dickish-sounding questions because of the way that I am, but you can count on lunch for tomorrow at least.”

“Don’t worry about it. Your food more than makes up for it.” Bruce lifted the container and gave a mocking bow toward Arthur as he backed out the door. 

“Goodnight, Bruce Wayne.”

A few seconds passed before Bruce’s shout filled the hallway, “Goodnight, Arthur Canary.”

* * *

Bruce kept coming to the bookstore’s back room for lunch for the rest of the week. Every day went about the same. He’d greet Bill who was consistently red in the face and duck around Barry’s lighting quick movements and his lightning quick ability to strike up conversations to make it to the microwave, and to Arthur who was inevitably leaning against the wall next to it, munching on whatever he’d made the night before.

“What have we got today, Mr. Ramsay?” He asked on Wednesday. Arthur hit the plastic container from the bottom, popping it out of Bruce’s hands and catching it deftly in his other. “Ahh yum. A broccoli biskay.” 

“It’s bisque,” Bruce replied, trying and failing to snatch the soup back from Arthur’s outstretched arms. They were the same height but Arthur was milliseconds faster, tossing it back and forth until Bruce hooked his foot behind Arthur’s knee and jerked it forward, distracting him for the few seconds that Bruce needed to grab the soup. Arthur fell dramatically to his knees. 

“Didn’t know you’d fight so dirty. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The day after, Arthur was loading a van full of library books as Bruce came by. The cold air blew straight into the little staff room, and Bruce poked his head out to see Arthur in a t-shirt.

“Dude, ever heard of a sweater? Or of closing doors? It’s freezing!” 

Arthur snorted. “Dude, ever heard of saving the destitute with literature? I’m about to go on a book run and it wastes time to keep opening and closing the door. If you wanted to be warmer you’d help.”

Bruce shrugged. “With the book moving or with the run?”

“Either or both. We have to unload the books once we get to the library, so added workout bonus.” 

“You know these guns don’t need to work out more,” said Bruce, moving to kiss his bicep. 

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think you know about guns,” he said, flexing as he shoved another box into the van. 

“Teach me, then,” retorted Bruce, finally stepping outside and grabbing a box. 

The work went much quicker with two people, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as they climbed into the now pleasantly warm van. “All machismo aside, I’m freezing. Now, ready to do some real volunteer work?”

Bruce nodded. “I think so. If you’re ready to accept your sweater, Mr. No Machismo.”

Arthur gasped. “No way! Thanks, man. Maybe the real charity work was the friends we made along the way.” 

The librarians were eager to see Arthur, and Bruce couldn’t help but notice how sweet he was to the two older women, how attentively he listened as he unloaded the boxes. One of the ladies directed Bruce to follow her into the library, and as he did, she chatted about the charity. “You’re lucky to be volunteering with Arthur,” she said. “He’s so passionate about helping people. He really gets it.” Bruce nodded mutely, unsure of how to respond. “Are you new to charity work, dear?” the lady prompted.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Yeah, actually. But you’re right about Arthur. He’s...he’s really great, and I’m lucky to be able to follow him around like this now and then.”

The lady smiled kindly. “I’m so glad to hear that. Thanks for your help, hon!”

After a few more loads, it was time to head back to the mall. Arthur found Bruce still inside the library, admiring the children’s area. “It’s kind of fun, once you get past the manual labor, right?” 

Bruce smiled. “Yeah. And you’re a real star among the librarians.” 

Arthur looked a bit surprised. “Really? How do you know?”

“They just had a lot to say about your assets.”

Arthur flexed his arms. “Oh, you mean these?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You can’t say fuck in here, it’s a library!” Arthur punched Bruce’s arm lightly.

“You can’t hit people in here, it’s a library!” Bruce mimicked, surprised at the sudden touch. 

“Then it really is time to leave because I’m about to punch you,” Arthur retorted. 

They made it back to the mall, bantering comfortably. Bruce sighed as they pulled up to the bookstore’s loading area. “I hardly want to go back to selling rich guys more unnecessary suits after this. I felt...actually good about today. Thanks for taking me along.”

Arthur grinned. It was a genuine, beaming smile that made Bruce feel almost warm in biting winter wind between van and store. “That’s how you’re supposed to feel, helping people.”

* * *

On Friday, Bruce looked up from his microwaved soup to see Arthur coming back from the desk. “Join me,” said Bruce, faux-gallant, kicking out a chair. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I already ate my homemade sandwich, asshole.”

“Oh, fine, I rescind my invitation.” 

“Whatever, you don’t even work here. Anyway. Look. I still have Zin left, and I was wondering if you’d like to come over again tonight. Maybe a little later, it can be like a fancy wine and cheese thing?”

“Do you genuinely like wine and cheese or are you pretending to cater to my background again?”

“I fucking love gouda, so shove it. Are you coming over or not?”

Bruce looked carefully at Arthur’s face. Under the beard, it was difficult to tell his emotions, but Bruce had his suspicions. “Oh, I’ll come.”

* * *

If Arthur had been nervous for the dinner, it was nothing compared to the nerves he was feeling now for the “wine and cheese” night. He wasn’t good at flirting, but it seemed like Bruce had picked up on the hint. And if he wore that cologne again, well, his flirting might abruptly become more obvious.

Finally there was a knock on the door and Arthur hurriedly lit a few candles. He swore as one nearly fell over. “Hang on, I’m coming!”

Bruce stood smugly in the doorway. “No need to rush.”

Arthur tried not to blush. “Just trying not to burn the place down, if it’s all the same to you.”

Bruce snorted. “Whatever. Now, where’s the Zin?”

“Already on the table, asshole. With the gouda. And just because I care, I picked up some crackers.” 

“Arthur Colonoscopy, what a saint.” 

“Just come in and sit down already.” 

Bruce allowed himself to be ushered in by the comically flustered Arthur. He took a long sip of wine and stared as Arthur went back out to the kitchen for God knew what. He didn’t mind the view. Another sip, and he cleared his throat. “You’re cute when you’re all flustered, you know that?” he said boldly.

That summoned Arthur quickly enough. “Cute? Excuse me? Like hell.” 

“Like hell what?”

“Like hell I’m cute, have you seen me?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Not with your shirt off, so it’s hard to judge.”

Before Bruce could even hope that Arthur would rise to the bait, the man’s sweater was tossed to the couch beside him. “Judge away. But fair is fair. I haven’t seen much of you, either.”

“Fair is fair.” Bruce shelled off his polo. But instead of getting to watch Arthur’s admiration, Bruce watched Arthur’s eyes jump to the polo.

“Another polo? Really? For a wine and cheese date? You really are a rich kid.”

Bruce nearly screamed. “Yes. Because we’re having wine and cheese. What do I look like, a cretin?”

“What do I look like, a punk with too many tattoos and an attitude problem? Because that’s exactly what I am. So I repeat, fair’s fair.”

Bruce was about to retort, until he looked again at Arthur’s torso. Gorgeous tattoos spiraled up and down his muscles, concentric circles spun like ripples in a deep, still pond. “Fair is not fair, where did you get all of those?”

It was Arthur’s turn to be disconcerted. “It’s apparently a thing my mom’s family did. Even though I didn’t know her, I wanted a part of her culture and life to be with me. So, basically, I got a shitton of tattoos.” 

Bruce took a step toward him. “They’re really incredible. Gorgeous.” 

“But not cute.”

“No. Much more powerful than cute.” he smirked. He marveled at the tattoos on Arthur’s chest for so long that he almost didn’t notice Arthur’s incredulous look back and forth across his chest and arms. 

“How does a trust fund baby get scars like that?” Bruce almost flinched as Arthur stepped closer and ran his hand along his most prominent scar, a long raised surgical scar across his collarbone. Goosebumps formed on his chest, radiating from the barest strip of skin that Arthur’s fingers touched.

“I fought a lot when I was younger.” he said, “That was a shattered collarbone.”

Arthur nodded and trailed his finger across Bruce’s chest to another scar, shorter and darker than the first one. Arthur’s eyes flicked toward Bruce’s. There was a question behind his deep brown eyes. 

“A knife,” he answered. 

The rhythm continued as Arthur pointed out the barest nicks in Bruce’s skin. He’d never paid much attention to the scars that he’d collected when he was younger, he didn’t even remember where some of them had come from and didn’t want to remember the origins of others, but Arthur’s intense fascination was disarming and Bruce found himself sharing more than he’d shared in a long time. 

“A shard of glass, I think. The guy I was fighting broke a window over me.” Bruce shrugged. He could almost taste the blood in his mouth from that fight when Arthur touched the smooth pinkish scar. 

“Why were you fighting?” Arthur asked. Bruce could see his expression had shifted. Fascination had given way to worry. 

“I was a kid. I was angry. Lots of other angry kids to pick fights with if you know where to look.” 

“And what are you now?” Arthur asked, finally resting his hands on Bruce’s hips. 

Unbelievably happy, he thought. Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead he put his hands on Arthur’s waist and leaned in for a kiss. 

Arthur’s hands reached up to cup Bruce’s face, and as they kissed his hands ran down the length of his neck and shoulders, pausing on the scars and the old wounds and healing them as Bruce pulled away, breathless. “Happy. I’m happy. That’s what I am.” 

He leaned in again and after a long moment Arthur pulled away. “Good. I’m happy too.”

* * *

Bruce stayed over that night, and the rest of the weekend. Arthur couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt as free or had as much fun -- Bruce made him laugh with his dumb puns and his stupid polo shirt and sweater combinations. Arthur teased him relentlessly.

“It’s literally the weekend. You need take off that polo immediately and stop pretending like you’re fucking Versace.”

Bruce snorted. “I wish I could’ve fucked Versace. Unless you take this off for me, I intend on looking my best.”

Arthur quickly relieved Bruce of the polo and kissed down his torso. “Why fuck Versace when I’m already here?”

Bruce pulled Arthur up and kissed him deeply. “You raise a very good point.” 

The weekend was over too soon, and the last droning work weeks before Christmas began. Arthur was busy driving vanloads of books to local shelters, and Bruce had a sudden backlog of suit-fittings. Each accidental encounter by the non-profit microwave felt precious. In the minute Bruce had to hurriedly head his soup, they’d kiss, exchange a quick summary of the day’s trials, and head back to work. 

By Thursday, the driving schedule meant that Arthur would miss lunch, and therefore miss Bruce. He knew he could always pop over to the suit shop, but he also knew Bruce and Diana were both too busy to chat. Part of him also worried that Bruce wasn’t as interested -- kitchen makeouts were low-hanging fruit, and it wasn’t as if Bruce had bothered to call him after hours. 

So on Friday, Arthur headed home, determined not to think too hard about Bruce for the weekend. “I could call Barry, see if he wants to play Call of Duty,” he muttered to himself, unenthused. He made a frozen pizza and turned on the TV, trying not to feel lonely. 

He was startled awake at a loud knock on the door. Panic shifted into joy when he heard Bruce’s voice accompanying the banging. “Curry! Cockledoodledoo! If you’re asleep I will kill you, please come to the door.” 

Arthur shook off his TV-induced stupor and opened the door. “Not sure if you noticed, but I live in an apartment building where other people might want to sleep, even if I’m not allowed.”

“So you were taking a nap, then.”

“Shut up. Why are you even here?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t notice the epic snow we just got?”

“No, asshole, I was asleep.”

“Good thing I stopped by then. We’re going sledding.”

Arthur blinked. “What? It’s very dark, very cold, and apparently very snowy. Sounds unsafe.”

Bruce shook his head and stepped into the apartment, eyes roaming. “Just bundle up. Where’s your coat? And stop acting like you don’t have a four-wheel drive Ford F-150. You can hit a few snow drifts and be fine.” 

“Oh, so not only are you making me go sledding, you’re making me drive?”

“I’ll be running you over if you don’t hurry up.”

Bruce bundled Arthur into his heaviest coat and a scarf, and produced a rolled up pile of windbreaker fabric. Arthur frowned. “What’s this?”

Bruce grinned. “Snow pants. They’ll keep you nice and cozy. Okay, you look about as ready as you’ll ever be. Let’s hit the road.”

They transferred the sleds from Bruce’s Audi to Arthur’s truck, and Bruce gave directions to what he promised was a fantastic sledding hill. “Dude, I’m so excited,” Bruce said quietly, breath briefly steaming the truck’s window. “I bet you’ll love it. I hope so, at least.” His voice grew even quieter as he spoke, and Arthur suppressed a smile. 

“I bet I will. Teach me -- what am I supposed to do?”

They climbed out of the truck, taking out the sleds. “Well, get this,” Bruce began. “Sledding is actually very simple. You sit on the sled, or lie down, up to you, and then you slide down the hill. It’s literally that easy.” They started walking up the hill. 

“Oh ha ha, yes I understand that you slide down the hill,” Arthur said sarcastically, shoving Bruce with his shoulder. “Give me useful advice about steering and not dying.”

“It would be easier if I just showed you,” Bruce said mischievously, setting down the sled at the top of the hill. “Sit in front and I’ll sit in back and steer. We’ll have fun, promise.”

Arthur stuck out his tongue at Bruce but obliged. Despite all their layers, Bruce felt warm against Arthur’s back, and his legs were a firm and comforting presence around him. Without any warning, Bruce sent them careening down the hill. 

Bruce couldn’t bite back an elated whoop as they flew through the snow. The full moon shone across the white expanse, and Arthur was clinging to his legs. The world felt perfect. 

Until they hit the hay piled at the bottom of the hill to keep errant sledders from the busy road beyond. Arthur yelped as the force of the impact flung him forward, but Bruce held on tightly. They rolled off the sled into the snow. Arthur twisted around, piling snow into Bruce’s face. “That was fucking terrifying, oh my god.”

Bruce piled the snow back. “Whatever, you were having the time of your life on the way down.”

“I can’t even remember the way down because I was so scared!”

“You’ll have to try it again, then.”

“I guess you’re right. Race you to the top!”

Bruce didn’t expect Arthur to take off up the hill with the sled in tow, but he did. Instead of running after, he strolled lazily up the slope. When he was halfway up, he narrowly avoided Arthur going full-speed down the hill, screaming at a pitch that seemed impossible for the big man. “Oh hell no!” Bruce yelled as he went by. “Good thing I brought the extra sled!” 

Several more rounds had both men panting up the hill only to collapse at the summit. “I love it,” Arthur breathed, “but if I have to walk up one more time I will die.” 

“Serves you right for pushing me down when I was almost all the way up,” Arthur shot back. 

“Serves you right for not climbing fast enough.” 

Bruce answered with a snowball. 

Finally, they piled the sleds back in the truck and started to climb into the cab. “Wait,” Arthur said. “We can’t leave without looking at the stars.”

Bruce smiled. “Fair enough. But we can’t stay long, it’s cold.”

“Finally you admit it. Luckily I have a couple blankets in the cab.” He rooted around under the seat and produced a few old fleeces. “Let’s climb in the back.”

They settled down, curled up in blankets, and admired the gorgeous sky above them. The bright moon didn’t obscure the stars, and they enjoyed the feel of one another’s warmth under the blankets as much as the constellations. “Thanks for this,” Arthur murmured after awhile. “I had no idea how much fun sledding in the middle of the night could be.” He burrowed his head into Bruce’s body, inhaling his scent.

Bruce smiled and leaned his head on Arthur’s. “I’m so happy you enjoyed. I don’t know, I love doing things at night. There’s something about the world that is so quiet. I feel like the world stops and it’s just me and whatever I’m doing. Whatever we’re doing.” 

Arthur lifted his head to meet Bruce’s lips. His face was cold but the kiss, even numbed, felt like nothing Arthur had known before. I love you, he thought into the darkness, but he didn’t say it. 

* * *

It was another week before they could really see one another again. Texting was nice and phone calls even better, but Bruce missed Arthur when their schedules were topsy-turvy. He was pulling into the familiar apartment complex when he spotted Arthur standing at the mailboxes outside his building, focused on an opened letter. Bruce grinned and parked the car a bit further away than necessary, walking the rest of the way and grabbing Arthur by the shoulders. 

“Boo,” he growled. 

Arthur flinched, letting loose the opened letter and two bills from his hand. “Jesus, Bruce. Anybody ever tell you you’re too damn sneaky?” 

“A time or two.” He grabbed the mail off the ground when he noticed a familiar letterhead. Infinity Corp. It was a god-awful logo, but a good company. They weren’t half as big as Wayne Enterprises, but nothing to look down on either. “What’s this? You a corporate spy?” he laughed. 

Arthur shrugged, “Some company sniffing around me because I run the branch well. You can read it.”

“Dear Arthur, yadda yadda we are interested in your work with the nonprofit sector. Yadda yadda Job offer. Full benefits.” Bruce looked back up at Arthur. “They’re offering you a good job, Arthur. This could be a career for you.” Bruce was ecstatic. He knew what a keen eye Arthur could have for business if he’d only use it.  
Arthur just smiled and shook his head, “Bruce, you know that that isn’t for me.”

“Arthur, just think! You could actually make something of yourself with a job like this,” he pressed. It was in the few seconds after the words left his lips that Bruce knew he’d made a mistake. Arthur’s eyes darkened and he crossed his arms tight over his chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Arthur. I didn't mean it as an insult. I just think you’re holding yourself back working at a secondhand bookstore. You could do better.” Bruce saw Arthur’s jaw tighten. 

“You mean I could make more money? Is that what you mean?”

“It’s not about the money. You know that, Arthur.”

“Sounds like something a guy with money would say.”

“I just think that you could be better about --”

“So I’m not good enough for you all the sudden?”

“Arthur--”

“You can fuck around with the bookstore guy until you realize that’s all he’s gonna be? Well fuck you, fuck your money, and fuck me for thinking that this could work.” Arthur snatched the letter from Bruce’s hands and stormed off toward the apartment. Bruce was fuming. He’d only wanted to see Arthur successful. 

“Fuck you too, then,” he shouted back. Bruce looked at the floor apartments and noticed several heads peeking out from behind blinds. He walked back to his car, slammed it in gear, and sped off back toward home. 

* * *

December 23

_To: Arthur  
Look, I didn’t mean what I said. But I hope you didn’t either_

_To: Bruce  
So I’m the one at fault here?_

_To: Arthur  
…..well, yeah_

_To: Bruce  
Please fuck off_

* * *

Arthur woke on Christmas morning and resisted the urge to check his texts. Bruce made it clear that he wasn’t going to speak to him without an apology, and Arthur sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to apologize. He sat at the edge of the bed, glancing at the shirt Bruce had left next to his bed and the socks forgotten in the corner. _How in the hell could he leave such a slug trail in so short a time?_ Arthur decided he’d just leave them with Diana or something as soon as the shop opened. After that he’d be rid of that rich boy for good and things would be normal again. Arthur felt a pang in his heart that he chalked up to heartburn. The phone rang as he was tidying up his room. He checked it cautiously and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his grandfather’s number. 

“Merry Christmas, Grandpa.” Arthur smiled at the sound of the ocean over the phone. 

“Merry Christmas, Arthur. What are you getting up to today?”

“Just staying home. Probably going to bake some of Dad’s cookies.” 

There was a few seconds of silence that Arthur thought might have meant a dropped call, but his father responded. “What about that Bruce you were talking about a week or two ago? Not serious enough to spend Christmas together?” Arthur had almost completely forgotten the conversation he’d had with his grandfather about Bruce. Time had seemed to move so quickly since then. 

Arthur’s grip on the phone tightened. “Bruce and I had a fight. We’re not going to be seeing much of each other anymore.” A longer silence this time, but Arthur could hear the waves in the background and knew that his grandfather was thinking. Arthur was tempted to hang up and pretend he lost service, but he couldn’t lie. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Arthur?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want. I’m not going to apologize and neither is he.” he said. He could almost feel his foot stamping like a toddler, but he shook it off. There was something about talking to his grandpa that made him feel 20 years younger. 

“Arthur, I may not be the smartest man in the world, but I have learned that you don’t give up on the ones you love, and I could tell that you loved him. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but that’s how I see it.”

It was Arthur’s turn for silence. He did. He did love Bruce. The crystal clear memory of that first perfect kiss, the spilled soups, the back of the pickup, and every moment since their hostile beginning hit him all at once. He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. The fight was stupid. It was all so stupid and he may have lost him forever. 

“What if he doesn’t want to see me again?” Bruce finally replied. 

His grandpa sighed, “Then you’ll move on, Arthur, but that can’t keep you from trying.”

Arthur sprang out of bed and wished his grandfather a Merry Christmas again before hanging up the phone. He tore through the house, gathering his keys, wallet, and where the hell were all his socks? He shrugged and pulled his boots on over his bare feet. He slammed the apartment door behind him and locked the door. Bruce had better be home. 

* * *

Bruce had spent most of his Christmases alone as an adult, but this one stung. He couldn’t get Arthur’s face out of his mind, his expression inscrutable behind the beard yet full of pain. He couldn’t believe that he’d been so stupid, but he also couldn’t fathom how Arthur was justifying his own words. This Christmas was shaping up to be shitty. He thought about calling Diana, but she had so many friends and relatives that she wouldn’t be able to stop by. Besides, she’d probably take Arthur’s side. 

He forced himself out of bed, considering a trip to the gym and then remembering yet again that it was Christmas, he was very alone, and everything was closed. He hadn’t even gone shopping for some halfway decent food. “That’s Arthur talking, idiot,” he muttered to himself. He’d be damned if he didn’t just enjoy a microwave burrito and a protein shake. As he made a spinach smoothie, he tried to hum a Christmas carol, but it seemed to echo eerily around his kitchen and mock him for being lousy at relationships. 

After finishing up his smoothie -- not his best batch, it had been pretty foul-tasting -- and doing all the dishes and finding a load of laundry, the day was hardly half over. He gave up trying to read yesterday’s newspaper and picked up his phone. His thumb hoovered above Arthur’s number, but he forced himself to scroll by, landing on Diana. _Fuck it,_ he thought. _I need a friend._

After four long rings, she picked up. The call’s quality was low, and he heard Greek crackling in the background as she answered. “Hey, Bruce, what’s up? You okay?”

He almost excused the call as an accident, guilty at interrupting her day. “I’m fine, yeah. Sorry to bother you. It’s just -- I had a big fight with Arthur and it’s been a tough few days. Do you have a minute?”

She hesitated but then Bruce could almost hear her nodding. “Of course, I can talk for a sec. I’m sorry. What happened?”

“I may have told him he was lazy and lacked ambition and he may have called me an upper-class prick. Or something along those lines.”

Diana was quiet for a moment. “Hmm. Have you considered that you are, perhaps, an upper-class prick?”

Bruce felt a tear sting his eye. “As a matter of fact the thought has crossed my mind lately,” he said hoarsely. 

Diana relented, laughing slightly into the phone. “I’m sorry, Bruce, that was rude. But I think that you two just have a really big difference in world view. You don’t approach stuff in the same way, and that’s got to be tricky. And though I know your life isn’t a, what do you call it, a picnic, you do come from a lot of privilege that I think Arthur has never had.”

“I mean, I know that--” Bruce started. 

“I don’t know that you do, my friend,” Diana interrupted. “Intellectually, maybe. But saying whatever you said was probably not something you thought was bad until he reacted, no?”

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” 

“I thought so. You just have to acknowledge to him that you’re not trying to be a dick, you just don’t see things the same way.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “But what if I think Arthur was also a dick?”

Diana laughed out loud this time. “Then you talk about it. It’s okay that you’re both mad, you just need to talk it out. I think you’ve got a good thing going, and it would be a shame to ruin it like this.”

Real tears rolled down Bruce’s face, and he was silent a moment. Diana seemed to understand, and didn’t speak further. Finally, when the tears stopped, Bruce cleared his throat again. “I think we did have a good thing going, and maybe you’re right. It doesn’t have to be over. Thanks for taking some time out of your day. I think I have an idea.” 

“Anytime, friend. I’ve got to go,” Diana answered, already yelling rapidfire Greek towards her family. “Good luck!” And with a click she was gone. 

Bruce sighed, wiped his still-stinging eyes, and smiled a little. It was time to learn how to bake. 

* * *

Bruce barely managed to grab his car keys on his way out the door. The only grocery store that was open was half an hour away, and nearing closing time. But if he didn’t bake chocolate chip Christmas apology cookies for Arthur, he might as well give up on ever finding love for the rest of his life. Of course, traffic was bad as people were returning from Christmas parties and family gatherings, and he rolled into the store’s parking lot just as the lights shut off. Dread opened in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t going to make the cookies. He’d failed. 

He got out of the car anyway and peeked inside the locked automatic doors. A single clerk was inside, mopping the floor. Hope returned and Bruce knocked desperately at the door. The clerk finally looked up and cocked his head suspiciously at the interloper. “Try the other door,” he mouthed. To Bruce’s surprise, the side door opened easily. “Thank you so much,” he said breathlessly to the clerk. “I’m so sorry but I just need to grab one thing and then I’ll on my way.”

The clerk nodded impassively. “Technically this is against store policy, but I’ll take another half an hour of overtime. I know I need the money.” But Bruce was gone, already sprinting down the baking isle, searching for chocolate chips. 

He reappeared as the clerk was putting away his mop. “I’ll just buy this really fast and be out of your hair.” 

The clerk shrugged. “Sure. No worries, I still have to do inventory.”

Bruce frowned. “Are you away from your family?”

“I mean, yeah, but that’s okay. We’ll do our own Christmas tomorrow. The kids always love it because it feels like a bonus Christmas. And this way we have a bit of extra cash to spend on presents.” 

Bruce pulled out his wallet and handed the clerk a hundred dollar bill. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered, and sprinted out of the store.

* * *

Arthur drove as fast as he dared on the highway to Bruce’s house. Any cop that pulled him over probably wouldn’t take “I was a dumbass to my boyfriend and now I’m afraid it’s ruined forever” as a viable excuse. He rehearsed the apology over and over in his head, adding bits here and there until he was so overwhelmed he could barely think. _I’ll just have to wing it._ He thought as he finally pulled up to Bruce’s house. The Audi wasn’t in the driveway, but it could be in the garage Arthur hoped. 

He slid out of his truck and walked the long path to Bruce’s front door. He knocked as loud as he could without sounding like a crazy person at the door, but no answer. Arthur sighed, the adrenaline of the split-second decision quickly left him. He knew it wasn’t the last time he’d be able to see Bruce, but it was Christmas. He didn’t want to spend the rest of the day alone knowing that Bruce probably hated him. 

Arthur sighed and walked back to his truck. He pulled out his cellphone and tentatively dialed Bruce’s number. Arthur counted the rings until Bruce’s voicemail message played. 

“You know who you’ve called. Leave a message.” 

Arthur smiled fondly at the message. He’d teased Bruce about it being childish during one of their first few lunches. 

“Hey Bruce. It’s Arthur. In case you deleted my number.” Arthur laughed despite himself. “I’m sorry I blew up at you. I could’ve handled that way better and I just need to see you. I love you.” He hung up the phone and leaned back in his seat. 

Just as Arthur started up the truck to go, Bruce’s Audi squealed into the driveway, parking crookedly. Arthur felt his heart leap, but he forced himself to move slowly. Despite the message he’d just left, he didn’t want to seem overeager. 

Bruce did not seem to be bound by the same fear. He careened out of the car and towards Arthur, brandishing a plastic grocery bag. “I am so happy to see you! Come inside? There’s something we have to do.”

Hesitantly, Arthur got out of the car. “Hey, can we talk--”

Bruce nodded, unlocking his front door. “I’d love to talk. We need to talk. But we also need to bake some apology Christmas chocolate chip cookies because…” He paused, clearing his throat. “Because I am so damn sorry about what I said. Forgive me?”

Arthur looked down, blinking back tears. “Of course. Forgive me too? I...I’m not sure if you got it but I left you a message on your phone. Basically, I’m sorry too and I miss you and I--”

Bruce opened the door and pulled Arthur inside. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! We don't work in retail so please excuse those errors/liberties we've taken with the store running process lol.
> 
> Alternative Summary: "People don't like things until they DO.": Arthur will come to like the holidays.


End file.
